Mistwalker Read Free

Here.” Simone stopped and scooped up some coins, but a gust of wind pushed her back before she could grab more. The shop signs creaked and clanged furiously on their hooks, and the gust chilled the sweat on her face and hands. The air smelt intensely of rain at first, and then it became dark and cold.
    Too dark.
    Baffled, she looked up.
    The fog coalesced. Solidified. Shoulders formed, solid arms appeared from nothing, and a man’s crisp, white shirt fluttered in the breeze.
    The streetlight slashed yellow rays across his face. The light was pure gold, angelic. And all at once, he was there.
    Simone blinked once, twice, her fingers numbed, and she heard the ting, flutter, and roll of coins hitting the ground. The taste of old pennies filled her mouth. An insistent, buzzing voice in her head screamed at her to get up, step back, but her knees stiffened, her palms hot and damp.
    The wind outlined grey tailored pants that moulded powerful legs. She looked up…and up…to a massive chest and broad shoulders. His face. Oh, dear Lord, his face. He tilted his head, and two silver eyes pierced the half-light.
    Stunned, images of the stained-glass windows at the church filled her mind. Pictures of winged creatures descending the heavens to pounce on sinners and take them to the fiery depths of hell, but instead of horns and black wings, he wore a three piece suit and a wicked grin.
     

Chapter Two
     
    She should be running. Run, run. But…but he’d appeared . Out of nowhere. She couldn’t run from that. The flesh twisted above her elbow. “Ow! What?” she snapped, and rubbed at the stinging spot on her arm.
    “Pay attention,” her friend whispered. “Tell me you saw him appear from thin air. I’m not imagining that.”
    They’d been drugged. No other explanation. A costume didn’t give you the ability to materialise, especially not blood-spattered pants, a white dress shirt, and an expensive coat. Wait. Her focus sharpened and lowered.
    Her stomach dropped in an icy rush. Blood spattered dress pants? Yes, tiny dark dots of an unmistakable colour flicked all over his dark grey pants. The empty shops and huddled apartments stood as the only sentry to their imminent attack. They had the numbers—two against one—yet Simone could tell by his build, his very presence, that she’d need every bit of her training to be the victor in a fight.
    Steely resolve flowed through her system, pushing out the fear. Her heart pounded, but she adjusted into stance. Rarely was she without a weapon, but thankfully, she didn’t need one to survive.
    He glided forward silently on the pavement, hovering a clear inch above the ground. His black polished shoes glinted in the light until he was a foot away from her.
    “Wha…?” Simone gaped.
    “Oh shit. Shit!” Tammy said. “Couldn’t figure it out. Damn. Don’t bother running.”
    Simone turned slightly to her. “What’s—”
    Tammy muttered, “Do whatever you can to survive—”
    “Look into my eyes. Heed what I say.”
    His voice, oh, it embodied smooth and luxurious. The vibration harnessed some kind of unknown tremor; it filled the crevices of shadows, empty streets, alleyways, echoing in Simone’s heart. A voice like that could cloak the sun and make a person believe it was night.
    She backed up, her jaw working.
    Another dark figure loped across the street toward them, but his progress was slow and determined. He moaned a sound she’d heard long ago. A certain pitch that she thought was hunger.
    Instantly, a horrible sense of déjà vu overtook her. Butterflies disintegrated to ash inside her stomach. It was happening again; right here in Whitby where she’d once lost everything.
    “Tammy, go! Don’t wait for me,” Simone said, determination burning in her heart. “I’ll handle this. Go.”
    The heat of Tammy’s body remained still, positioned steadfastly behind Simone’s.
    She spun around. “ Go .” She waved a frantic hand in front of Tammy’s face, and